


Christmas Magic

by theramblinrose



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Family, Richonne - Freeform, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22036603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinrose/pseuds/theramblinrose
Summary: Richonne, AU.  Set in the “A Very Merry Christmas” universe.  Rick was certain that all of the magic in his world came through Michonne.
Relationships: Rick Grimes/Michonne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Christmas Magic

AN: This was based somewhat on a request. I’m sure this is not what they had in mind. LOL

It’s in the same universe as my story “A Very Merry Christmas.” 

I write Michonne as having daughters in the way of the comics. I have nothing against Andre, I simply tend to prefer Michonne as the mother of daughters (as I was first introduced to her as being). 

I own nothing from the Walking Dead.

This is just a little Christmas (brought to you after Christmas) fluff. I hope that you enjoy it! 

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

They were what everyone would call a “blended family.” Rick had heard the phrase at least two dozen times since he’d married Michonne, but he was pretty sure that he’d never heard it before he’d married her. Maybe he was simply more aware of it now that people seemed to think it was something he should think about all the time.

What was it like to be a blended family? Was it hard on the children? Was it hard for them to love each other’s children? Did their past relationships put strain on their current relationship? Was it hard during the holidays?

Rick learned that people were good at asking questions about things that were none of their business. When he gave answers to those people who thought that his family was of their concern, he always painted the picture that his life was perfect. Their marriage was perfect. Their family was perfect. Everything had come together flawlessly.

The reality, however, was that being a blended family was messy and, sometimes, it was difficult, especially around the holidays.

Because they were a blended family, Rick had become the doting father to two little girls that had him firmly wrapped around their tiny fingers, and that was despite the fact that they shared not one bit of his DNA and looked nothing like him. They were both practically the spitting image of their mother, however, and that made them all the more precious in Rick’s eyes. Their mother, after all, was the most beautiful woman that Rick had ever seen. And Anjelica—“Anj” especially to him—was a four year old miniature of Michonne with pearly white teeth and big brown eyes and a smiled that would light up even the darkest rooms. Celine—a quiet but happy two-year-old—looked a bit more like her father than Anjelica did, but she still had her mother’s eyes and dimples when she smiled.

They all had Rick’s heart.

But the holidays were hard because that was the time when every commercial advertised the perfect family and every movie suggested that love—once found—never ended. And every father was perfect.

It was hard for Michonne because, even though Rick knew that she loved him with all of her heart, it reminded her that Dean—the man that she had once loved—had left her and the girls for what she called a “younger model” and, with that, he’d signed away his rights to his children.

Michonne worried that the girls would, someday, question why it was that their biological father hadn’t loved them enough to want to watch them grow up. Rick simply soothed over her concern by promising that he would love them twice as much—and they would understand that love by choice always meant more than love by obligation.

Of course, Rick had his own children, too, and his own marriage that he’d left behind. That added another level of difficulty to the successful management of their blended family. 

Because Lori had cheated on Rick with his best friend and, in reality, she’d destroyed a great deal of Rick’s trust and ability to find peace and calm in his surroundings. She’d destroyed his illusion of a happy home. For the longest time, he’d almost looked over his shoulder constantly in expectation of the next terrible piece of information that would slam into him and take him off his feet. 

Michonne soothed a lot of his concerns, though, and she was immensely patient with him. She was steady and calm. She smoothed out the waves in his mind that rolled around when he began to overthink things. She offered him safety and rest in her arms.

When Lori used his children against him—as something to try to keep a type of constant control over him since she neither wanted him for herself nor wanted to let him go entirely—Michonne was good at stepping in and reasoning with the woman. As a lawyer, Michonne knew how to deal with people. She knew how to be pleasant even to people that she had every reason to want to strangle.

And she was a wonderful step-mother to Carl and Judith.

It was her ability to reason with Lori and to make her think that Michonne’s suggestions were her own, that had earned them the ability to have such a perfect Christmas Day ahead of them.

Michonne had worked a little of her magic so that, the night before, Rick had been able to tell all of their children—the whole blended lot of four—goodnight as he’d tucked them in to wait for Santa. Because of Michonne’s Christmas magic, Rick would get to see Carl when he opened up his first BB gun, and he would get to see Judith’s reaction to the absolutely perfect baby doll that they’d found for her. And, to do that, he wouldn’t have to sacrifice witnessing Anjelica’s excitement over the purple bicycle with training wheels that she’d coveted for months or Celine’s joy over the remote-controlled puppy that would hopefully quell her desire for a real puppy for just a bit longer.

Rick was certain that all of the magic in his world came through Michonne.

The children were so excited to open their presents that Rick and Michonne had allowed them to open them before breakfast. They’d allowed them to open them before anything else. They’d dropped all pretense of organized chaos, planted themselves on the couch, and they’d simply watched the unbridled happiness of four children tearing into wrapping paper together and spreading out to take over the living room. 

Someone forgot to remind the children that they were a blended family and, as such, they should have difficulties relating to one another. Someone forgot to remind them that they should feel some sorrow over the fact that their original nuclear families had failed—especially on Christmas morning when Hallmark wanted them to know that they didn’t look quite right in the eyes of a society that was too busy judging others to live in the harmony they sang about for the holiday.

Rick slipped his hand into Michonne’s, leaned against her, and stole a few quick kisses—barely more than touches of his lips against her neck, jaw, and cheek—while the children unwrapped their gifts, squealed in pleasure and amazement, and started to play with and examine everything they’d been gifted.

Michonne tightened her hand around Rick’s when Carl offered to help his little sisters—all of them, since he made no distinction between them—open their gifts, get rid of the bits and parts holding their toys captive, and get them up and running.

“I’ll start the coffee,” Michonne said quietly. She patted Rick’s leg as she stood up and started toward the kitchen. He saw her stop by the tree. He saw her reach her hand into the branches and tuck the box into the waistband of her pajama pants. He saw her fix her shirt over it to avoid questions, and he watched her pad toward the kitchen in her striped Christmas socks.

Rick gave her a moment and then he stood up. He walked over to the desk in the corner, pulled the scissors from the drawer, and handed them to Carl as he passed by him.

“Keep them out of the reach of the girls,” Rick said, patting his eleven-year-old son on the shoulder.

“I’ve got it, Dad,” Carl assured him. 

“I know you do,” Rick said, laughing to himself. As he passed by the tree, he reached into the branches and snagged the box out that he’d tucked in there. He palmed it, instead of even bothering to tuck it into a pocket, and he carried it into the kitchen. 

Michonne was just closing the top of the coffee maker and she flicked the button that would set it to brew. She turned and smiled at him as he came into the kitchen. The first thing Rick did was wrap his arms around her, pull her into him, and plant a kiss on her lips which she returned with enthusiasm. 

He loved those lazy, soft-lipped kisses she gave him when there was no purpose behind them except simply enjoying the kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Grimes,” Rick offered, squeezing her once before he let go of her to give her some space.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Grimes,” Michonne responded with a smile. 

Rick offered her the box he was holding.

“I saw you grab yours on the way out,” Rick said.

“I thought it might—give us a moment,” Michonne said. “Without little fingers wanting to help unwrap.” Rick shook the present at her again and she laughed and took it. She produced hers from the band of her pants, and he placed it on the counter beside them. “You don’t want to open them at the same time?” She asked.

“You go first,” Rick said.

Michonne nodded her acceptance for his plan of how things should go. She slipped her finger under the edge of the paper.

“You love tape,” she mused.

“Are you criticizing my wrapping skills?” Rick asked. Michonne laughed to herself. 

“Do I tear it with my teeth or—should I get a knife?” She teased. She was already inside the wrapping, though, and mostly teasing him for her own amusement. She pulled the white box free from the paper and gently lifted the lid as Rick took the paper and discarded it onto the counter for a moment to get it out of the way.

Michonne smiled and stared into the box.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, pulling the locket out. 

“You have to open it,” Rick said. He took the box from her so that her hands were free. He thought they shook slightly as she moved her fingers to pry open the two sides of the heart. “I took them over Thanksgiving to have it ready in time.”

Michonne smiled when the pictures were revealed to her.

On the one side, Rick had a miniature version of a picture of them placed. It was one of those traditional “couples” pictures that they’d had taken days after they’d married. Someone had gifted them a photograph package and they’d done it more as a joke than anything. Still, Michonne had fallen in love with the pictures, and one of them hung in the living room. Now she had one to keep with her since she claimed that she hated being away from Rick—and his job was one that often kept them apart.

On the other side, though, there was a picture that he’d arranged. It was a perfect picture of their beautiful blended family. All four of the children were present and three of them were smiling while three of them—a different three than the smiling three, though there was some overlap—were looking at the camera.

“It’s perfect,” Michonne breathed out. 

Rick reached and took it from her. She allowed him to clasp it around her neck, and she stood touching it with her fingertips as it rested against her skin. 

Rick picked up his box and waved it at her. She smiled at him.

“I really hope you like it,” Michonne said. 

“I love everything you give me,” Rick assured her.

“I hope so,” Michonne said.

Rick ripped into the wrapping paper. He freed the white box from the paper and tossed his paper to join hers as it waited to be discarded. He opened the lid and stared, a little puzzled, at the object inside.

“Baby’s first Christmas,” he read as he lifted the little ornament from the box and rested the empty box on the counter. He furrowed his brow at Michonne. 

Her eyes were wide and he could hear her breathing.

“I hope you meant what you said,” Michonne said, her voice catching. “I hope you really do love everything I give you.” 

Rick laughed nervously to himself as his stomach clenched tight and his lungs seized up and, for just a moment, his heart felt like it stopped in his chest. Realization closed in around him and left his brain almost feeling like the staticky channel on an old television set.

“Baby’s first Christmas,” Rick repeated. Michonne nodded her head. “That’s—next year?” 

“Next year,” Michonne said. “This year. Depending on how you want to see it.” She smiled. “Baby’s right here.” 

She dropped her hand to pat her stomach. Rick followed her hand with his eyes. If anything, he’d have thought anything she was patting there was the result of those extra helpings of pumpkin pie over Thanksgiving or the fact that she’d gobbled up every holiday sweet she’d passed since the first Christmas carols had started playing on the radio. 

“Our baby?” Rick asked.

Michonne smiled and nodded her head.

“As far as I know,” she teased.

Rick reached his hand out and hesitated before he touched her. She placed her fingers on top of his. His heart pounded in his chest in the best way possible. 

“How long?” He asked.

“I’ve known about two weeks,” Michonne said. “I went to the doctor for a blood test. It’s really early. Six weeks. I have an appointment for a scan next week—if you want to go. Just to see if everything’s OK. We can probably start telling everyone in a month or so.” 

She said the words quickly. She kept her voice low, barely above a whisper, and she leaned close to him when she spoke until her lips were practically on his and her breath blew softly on his face. 

He closed the small distance between them and kissed her. He did everything he could to answer all her questions, and to lay to rest all her concerns, with that one kiss.

When she pulled away, she smiled at him. 

“You’re happy?” She asked.

He laughed to himself.

“I couldn’t be happier,” he assured her. 

“You’re not going to be happy when I tell you that the coffee is decaf,” Michonne teased.

“I don’t need the caffeine,” Rick assured her. “I’m already walking on clouds.” He kissed her again and she poured two cups of coffee. She handed him his to fix while she fixed her own, and he threw the paper in the trash.

She gave him one more kiss before she tugged him back toward the living room where there was a great deal of squealing laughter and the sound of a robotic dog that would probably keep them awake until the sweet cries of a newborn shattered the quiet of their earliest morning hours.

As they passed by the Christmas tree—entirely certain that no child would question it or even notice it—Rick hung the ornament on a side branch as a reminder of all that was to come.

Most of the people that Rick knew wouldn’t hesitate to remind him that they were a blended family and that, as such, they should be prepared for a great deal of struggle.

What Rick recognized the most, though, and what he hoped to pass down to his children—every last one of them—was that they were a happy family who loved one another and, at the end of the day, that was all that really mattered.


End file.
